


What's in a Name?

by buttday



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 17:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14266188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttday/pseuds/buttday
Summary: "Attachment,Shion, that's what's in a name."~Let this song touch their souls,was Nezumi's plea. Let it carry Tsukiyo's soul to eternal peace,and let it fucking hit Shion like a knee to his gut.





	What's in a Name?

**Author's Note:**

> h-hello. i wrote this a few nights ago and put it up on here but i didnt want to cross-post to tumblr until i was finally done messing with it (that is, editing and adding stuff because i never have my fics beta'd before i publish ;( huhu) this is the first fic i'm publishing in almost two years and a half omg
> 
> anyway! have a post- _no.6 beyond_ fic! 
> 
> in which i write about tsukiyo as if he were a main character (he is, in my heart), and about nezumi thinking of going back to no.6 just to friggin kick shion's ass.
> 
> (also, i haven't been around for no.6 for like... four years so i don't know if anyone's written about this, but here is my take on it, regardless) lmk what u think hahahue hehe thanks anyway!!

                Nezumi could feel it, deep in his bones, even from over a year away from No.6, when Tsukiyo drew his last breath.

                It was in the way Cravat and Hamlet made a ruckus running up and down his arms then suddenly, suddenly quieted.

                And it was in the way his heart ached. Nezumi had felt something like palpitations but quickly dismissed it; see, it wasn't unusual for his chest to seize up, or for his limbs to lock then limp. It's quite common, has been ever since he took off.

                It happened every time he looked up, every time the wind carried his thoughts across the wide expanse of the sky all the way back to No.6, all the way back to Shio—

                _Tsukiyo._

                _So his time is up..._ Nezumi sighed. Tsukiyo had served him well, as a companion, a confidante, a comrade. Nezumi treasured him so, and accepted the pain it brought him to realize what's happened.

                He took a deep, serene breath. As he held Cravat and Hamlet close, he cleared his throat roughly and resolved to dedicating a song to Tsukiyo, one that will bring his soul—

                _Wait._

                _Wait. Wait. Wait._

                Nezumi almost doubled over; the realization came rushing in, hit him faster than he could comprehend it and all that it made him feel.

_Tsukiyo wasn't supposed to live this short, was he?_

                Nezumi pressed a palm onto his forehead as he stumbled, making Hamlet and Cravat startle from their quiet to skitter onto the ground by his feet.

                They craned their necks to look up, taking turns blinking at him, pressing their small front feet together, making gestures that confused Nezumi even further.

                _They aren't even three years old..._

Nezumi was well aware, of the average lifespan of the generic rat species: if conditions were right, they'd live up to two years. His mice weren't of the generic species, however.

                They were descent from the rats that resided in the Mao forest along with the Forest People, a breed that could live for nearly twice as long, on top of possessing intellect and wisdom.

                The three mice had been around by the time No.6 started showing signs of crumbling, by the time Nezumi started plotting to fulfill a debt to someone who was still within those walls.

                Many generations of these mice had come and gone, and if Nezumi tried hard enough he could quite successfully trace each of Hamlet's, Cravat's, and Tsukiyo's lineages, from those of them who survived following him and his foster grandmother out of Mao over a decade ago, to those left behind in the library vault when she was murdered and he was captured by No.6, and to those that greeted him right where he left them once he managed to escape...

                The families grew smaller by the generation. They were not nearly as resilient as humans— perhaps just not as resilient as Nezumi. Living away from the abundance of the Mao forest to stay in the cesspool West Block was, was taking its toll, and the shift in the environment they chose was proving to be too difficult to adapt to, whether it were gradual or abrupt; there was no way they could cope for much longer. _It was just natural selection._

                Hamlet, Cravat, and Tsukiyo were the last of them, it seemed. And of the three of them, Tsukiyo was the youngest, hence he should have lived the longest... _Right?_ In the least, he should have lived longer than this.

                Nezumi staggered, trying to find some explanation, any explanation for how all of this could happen. But when he thought of ecology and the like, there was only one face, only one person he could think of asking, and he shot the idea down as quickly as it arose. At this point, there was nothing he could do, not about Tsukiyo.

                He shuffled his thoughts, trained them back to the black mouse; No.6 as a city may have fallen, but it still had all in all better living conditions than the West Block; Tsukiyo would have had as much space as he wanted, as much exercise and rest, as much food—

                Yes, that he lived within a bakery of all places was supposed to suffice and more. He would never starve, his health would never have to suffer, so why—

                Another face came to mind, another one he tried to forget. But that he was relatively less concerned about memories with this person made remembering them less tiresome: It was Inukashi.

                Something they used to say— it seemed so long ago— about their dogs and how they know their master through and through. Dogs are naturally inclined to feel for their masters without hesitation, without bias, without fear. They tied themselves to their master's motivations, inhibitions, and emotions, without fail. Compassion brought forth by understanding this gave Inukashi strength in facing each and every day in a place like West Block; taking care of their emotions was all in a day's work to keep their family alive.

                Nezumi clicked his tongue, wanting to berate himself— _don't stop to think of Inukashi._

_Never stop to think of people in the past._

                Besides, dogs and mice were entirely different however anyone cut it, weren't they? Especially _these_ mice.

                They lived for one another. They also lived in harmony with humans, served them earnestly not because they were, say, biologically subservient, but because they had heart. Though, as the mice dwindled in numbers, that had begun to change. Nezumi felt each generation growing more and more attached to him, and regardless of if he saw them as companions, they did begin to see him as their master.

                _Their master..._

                Hamlet and Cravat have been energetic, so to speak— they were as exhilarated as Nezumi was to be travelling. Well, Nezumi was also soul-searching, but Hamlet and Cravat need not occupy themselves with human sensibilities like these. Feeling different winds and tasting new fruits were enough for them to live their lives out with satisfaction, as well as relishing in their master's presence and in the faith they have in his vitality.

                _Vitality, huh?_

                If they were going to treat him as their master anyway, then Nezumi only had to become the best master to them that there could ever be. He wouldn't have to trust in other humans, and these companions would never betray him.

                He hadn't subscribed to the idea of one serving two masters at once, either— that was until _he'd_ shown up and started to have the trio at his every beck and call—

                Nezumi gulped, sinking to his knees, almost shooing the mice away.

                _Don't stop to think about him—_

_Never—_

                _Tsukiyo—_

 _Tsukiyo's master—_ Nezumi had long since ceased to be Tsukiyo's master.

                The two mice came up to him again, peering into his face, as if to ask if he were alright. Despite the grief which came with the strange connection with their brother that had allowed them to feel Tsukiyo's passing, they still worried more for Nezumi who was in front of them.

                "Don't worry," Nezumi said, trying to reassure the little pair. Despite the grief he had also felt, he worried more for these two, too. "It's okay."

                They cheeped, hopping into Nezumi's palm when he reached out to them.

                _"Hamlet, Cravat."_

                Their responses were warm, nuzzling into the leather covering his fingers, pleased noises as they were called by name—

                _By name..._

                _By name._

                _Yes._ He remembered now, when exactly it was that Tsukiyo had switched masters.

**_"This one is Tsukiyo. Like a moonlit night."_ **

**_"Like I said, don't name them!"_ **

**_"Ah, but Eve—" A change in pitch, some dramatic gesticulations. "What's in a name?"_ **

**_That which we call a rose_  
                By any other name would smell as sweet. **

                _Naive._ He who had spoken those words, not caring for its context, not caring for the way he used it then, not caring for how pathetically monotone he sounded as he recited Shakespeare— was naive.

                _"…Shion…"_

                The name felt foreign on Nezumi's tongue, in a voice dry and hoarse as he choked it out— _what's in a name?_

                "Shion," he repeated, "What's in a name?" _If you didn't care about context then, I won't care how I use it now, I won't care how pathetic I sound—_

                He could feel his eyes stinging, tears trying to force their way out. He didn't have the power to hold them in.

                _"Tsukiyo..."_ he mumbled. The sobs came right after.

                The tears fell. They rolled down his cheeks relentlessly, fell from his chin to the palm of his hand where Hamlet and Cravat sat, watching blankly as if the drops were waterfalls meant to coax them into meditation.

                Nezumi mourned Tsukiyo.

                Tsukiyo was a precious friend, one he hadn't doubted for a minute when he tasked him to watch his place while he went off to work, one he hadn't doubted for a second when they were fighting for their lives at the Correctional Facility, one he wouldn't doubt for the rest of his life when he left him to take care of, and be taken care of by, his new master.

                _Here I am,_ Nezumi coughed, miles and miles away from Tsukiyo and where he'd grown up, bawling like a child over the death of a loved one for the first time since after the fire— he wanted to feel anger at himself for letting this happen, but there was no one watching, and with no one watching he could permit himself to openly cry about losing one of his closest friends.

                _"Attachment,_ Shion," he answered, to the mice, to himself, "that's what's in a name."

                And attachment on his part meant that he would have a name to moan when he grieved. A clear photo, clear memories, of he who owned the name, and consequently very vivid agony.

                When he'd lost his family and what was his life to that ruthless fire, he had been too young to remember any of their faces or their names. Grief was a numb throbbing in a scar he couldn't entirely recall how he got, tears he couldn't entirely understand streaming down his grandmother's face, blood blooming on her back when she was shot through her chest. Attachment was reserved for revenge and nothing else if it wouldn't help him attain it.

                Finding out that the monster that took everything away from him had a name, No.6, helped him move forward.

                "Attachment is what's in a name, _Shion—"_

                The name tasted bitter. Attachment to the person who owned this name gave Nezumi a clear image of someone blame, too, a name to curse if he couldn't the heavens— and this attachment to Tsukiyo was _his_ fault, it was making Nezumi grieve louder than he had ever before.

                Attachment on Tsukiyo's part, though... By now, Nezumi had understood. It meant that Tsukiyo was so thoroughly attached to his master, the one that gave him his name, that if his heart ever caved in, Tsukiyo would... expire.

                Humans can survive heartbreaks, tens and hundreds of them. But mice, they live such short lives; they don't deserve to feel heartache, they're not designed to be able to handle it. They're not designed by nature to have names, to have masters, to have heartache.

                Nezumi spat. _What kind of heartache would it have to be?_ Why had Tsukiyo grown weak to this point? What did he have to endure hearing or seeing? _Why couldn't he take any more?_

                _The fuck's his master doing?_

                Nezumi imagined— he willed himself against it, but he imagined— Shion waiting night and night again for him by open windows, sacrificing sleep and the warmth of a bed to stand with his arms outstretched on a balcony in the cold of the night, breaking down, and eventually, finally...

 _Giving up?_ Had his heart broken so much that Tsukiyo couldn't bear it?

                _Don't fuck with me._

                _I've only been away for a year._ Nezumi gritted his teeth. _I've only been away for a year, you idiot—_

                _You endured being separated from your mother, you endured the hell of the Correctional Facility, you endured losing Safu— why couldn't you endure waiting for me?!_

_How hard did waiting for me get that you just gave up? Why can’t you endure it—?_

                _You didn't believe in me._

                He mouthed it, in between uneven breaths, the realization dawning on him. "You didn't believe in me, Shion."

                _I'm out here, believing in you, with all my heart—_

                Nezumi punched into the soil, his chest clenching as hard as his fist.

                _What kind of half-assed attachment is that?! To have been attached to me this much, all this time, without even knowing my real name— and you choose_ now _to give up on me?_

                _Don't fuck with me. Don't fuck with me._

                Times Nezumi wasn't acting under a ruse were incredibly rare, and when he'd kissed Shion, he meant it: it was a real promise. He knew their time apart would do the both of them some good— they were apart for years after meeting for one night and they were fine, they were fine, _we were fine._

When they were twelve, Nezumi didn't have to promise Shion he’d be back to save his life like he saved his, in fact he'd left without a word— but Shion had soughed and sighed anyway and called his name and thought of him and believed in him and loved him—

                _Is it attachment that isn't enough?_

                Nezumi grunted in the back of his throat, rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of all of it. He could feel Shion was alive through the attachment he has to that airheaded asshole— it was an unwelcome attachment in the beginning but when push came to shove and he'd changed his life there was no going back, and it became an absolute attachment that connected every fiber of Nezumi's being to Shion— an attachment strong enough to last their time away from each other despite how hard he had to fight the urge to just go back before he could truly find himself after everything that's happened. 

                _Shouldn't it be the same the other way around?_

                Nezumi wasn't sure how, when, where, or why, but he did it, he promised he would come back— _Couldn't you feel it, Shion?!_

_Isn't it enough?_

                If... If Nezumi had told Shion his real name… Would he have never made up his mind to give up waiting for their promised reunion? Would his heart have never caved from not having him by his side to at least be there, to hold his hand as he bore on his shoulders the weight of the world he had to rebuild from the ground up?

_Would that have made this attachment stronger? More resilient? More faithful?_

                For a heart to let go of a promise— it's one of the worst heartbreaks there is... But it's survivable. It's survivable, just not for a mouse. Shion will live through a heartbreak like this, operate on other motivations, maybe the bare minimum... but not Tsukiyo.

                Nezumi swallowed hard, considering that he may as well be partly responsible for Tsukiyo's demise, for breaking his master’s heart. But it’s not out of guilt when he stood up, placed Hamlet and Cravat on his shoulder, and raised his arms. It was from the bottom of his heart when he sang. For Tsukiyo.

                _And for Shion._

 _Let this song touch their souls,_ was Nezumi's plea. Let it carry Tsukiyo's soul to eternal peace, _and let it fucking hit Shion like a knee to his gut._

                This separation wasn’t supposed to break Shion’s heart. Nezumi knew better than to tell Shion how to feel, but _how dare he forget that I would never break a promise._

_I didn't kiss you goodbye, Shion._

                Nezumi was going to give him a piece of his goddamn mind.

                He readjusted the superfibre cloth on his shoulders, making sure Cravat and Hamlet were comfortably situated among the folds. These two were nowhere near expiring, because they believed in Nezumi as their master.

                _Tsk._ Tsukiyo was dear to him so he wanted to respect his death, but Nezumi couldn’t help it; now that he'd grieved and mourned him properly and sung him a song, the only thing left was to chide him, albeit lovingly: _Tsukiyo, you should’ve just believed in me, too._

                All Nezumi had to do now was turn around.

                Nezumi breathed slowly, as he stepped in that direction, voicing another sentiment he felt deep in his bones. "This is why I said don't name them."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
